


4. Scribble On Sheets Of Paper

by GideonGraystairs



Series: 146 Things To Do Besides Self-Harm [4]
Category: The Infernal Devices Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Angst and Feels, Art, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Will Herondale-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 23:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11861751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GideonGraystairs/pseuds/GideonGraystairs
Summary: A quiet moment.This is a series of unrelated drabbles, meaning they can all be read separate.





	4. Scribble On Sheets Of Paper

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to [Tumblr](http://raphaelsantiago.co.vu)

“Will?” Jem asked cautiously, peeking a head of tangled silver hair into the study. He waited for a reply from the boy seated at the desk across the room, but when none came he furrowed his brow and took a step inside, letting the heavy wooden door fall shut behind him with a bang that still did not draw his friend’s attention. He tried again, the name falling from his lips a little more insistently this time.

Hand working across what must have been a piece of paper at a frantic pace, Will still did not look up as he replied with a distracted, “Yeah?”

Jem frowned. “What are you doing?” he inquired, stepping closer to get a better look. It didn’t look like he was doing much of anything, if Jem was being honest. The page, which it was, was covered in thin black scribbles so profuse it appeared as though the paper had simply been black to start with. And yet still Will showed no signs of stopping his desperate scrawls, though his writing hand was nearly black itself from the ink.

Will didn’t answer, every flicker of his attention fixed firmly on the task at hand. There was something almost poignant in the curve of his wrist and the flutter of his eyes. Something almost desperately lost, as though he were seeking a piece of himself in the defacing of a clean white canvas.

Jem brushed a soft hand over his shoulder and left the room.


End file.
